


to see her is to love her

by Fandine



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-24 00:57:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4899352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fandine/pseuds/Fandine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>And this morning yet again, Bartholomew sighs as the beautiful lady Iris moves past him on her way to the River Styx.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	to see her is to love her

And this morning yet again, Bartholomew sighs as the beautiful lady Iris moves past him on her way to the River Styx. Today her black hair is braided with flowers, a show of gratitude from Flora. Her dress is long and white and covers all, and a belt with a flask lies around her waist. Her golden wings whispers a reflection of times gone by at her back but her face is still young, a healthy glow. He knows she has a habit of touching them whenever she’s nervous of her next assignment, giving the tips of her fingers a fine layer of golden dust contrasting against her dark skin. He glances at them as she passes by.

They are golden.

“Iris,” he says and straightens from where he’s leaning against a tree.

She turns and looks at him in surprise. When she is surprised, she balls her hands into fists and her eyes widen. Her eyes are deep brown, but when he looks closely, he can see flickers of blue. Of skies and seas. Of heaven.

“Yes, Hermes?” she says when it becomes apparent he won’t speak first.

“I,” he says before he has to swallow. His throat becomes dry so easily. “I thought I had expressed my wish for you to call me Bartholomew.”

“Oh,” Iris says and blinks. “But that is… that is so intimate.”

He doesn’t speak, just swings from the balls of his feet to his toes.

“I am honored,” Iris says finally and ducks her head. But not before Bartholomew catches a glimpse of her smile. She might as well, Bartholomew thinks. It is the sun’s biggest rival. Everyone who sees her smile for the first time will realize they have never known true light before this moment.

“Are you troubled about this assignment?” Bartholomew says.

She looks up at him through her lashes. “Why, Hermes, would you like to take this assignment from me?”

“Oh, no, no,” Bartholomew says and his cheeks heat. “I would never.”

“You would never?”

Well, that is not entirely true. As the must trustwhorty messengers, Iris and Hermes are most definitely rivals in their pursuit of godly status and trust. Hermes is known to be the fastest, but if you wanted a more subtle and diplomatic approach, everyone knew to send Iris. It wasn’t uncommon for them to have fights over who would be best fit to send a god’s message. There… might have been some foul plays involved too.

“Well,” Bartholomew says, “if my memory serves me right, you are not above some trickery either.”

He bites his lips, apprehensive that he might have offended. But Iris only smiles up at him and laughs.

 _Laughs_.

 _Like music to my ear_ , Bartholomew thinks, and looks down just to ensure his footwear is still connected to the earth.

“To answer your question,” Iris says, “I am not troubled about this assignment. Zeus have sent me to take a ewer of water from the River Styx, to carry and use to put all those who perjure themselves to sleep.”

“A mighty endeavor,” Bartholomew says. “But not unusual. If not this, then what is it that troubles you?”

Iris looks away and reaches behind her to touch her wings. “Hermes…”

“Yes?” Bartholomew says and steps closer, bowing his head to catch lady Iris’ eyes.

“What do you think of my wings?”

“What do I think of your wings?” Bartholomew repeats, trying to parse the words he did not expect.

“Yes,” Iris says. “They are not special, are they? Nor unique. To be perfectly honest, they are quit dull, are they not? Just empty gold.”

“Not like my sister’s,” Iris continues. “Iridescence and beautiful.”

“Who told you so?” Bartholomew asks, suddenly angry. He takes Iris’ hand and lifts it up imploringly. “Your wings are not dull. They are most beautiful and just the sight of them will fill every poor man’s soul with joy. Not only for their sight, but for their meaning. Because when they witness golden wings, they will know they have just witnessed Iris, messenger of the gods, bringer of fortune and love, the most graceful and stunning of them all.”

Iris looks at him in surprise and some other emotion he cannot describe. Her eyes are yet again wide and her lips slightly parted.

Bartholomew is suddenly aware of how close he is holding her hand to his face, his lips all but touching her knuckles. _I might as well,_ he thinks in a fit of passion and what he will describe as madness later, and closes the distance.

In the next moment, he can hear her take a sharp breath and he couldn’t let go of her hand fast enough if it was suddenly aflame and burning.

“Oh well,” Bartholomew says and rubs a hand behind his neck in embarrassment. “I—I wish you a safe journey.”

“And I you, Bartholomew,” Iris says and smiles.

Bartholomew continues to stand at the same place long after Iris has gone. He can’t seem to stop his heart from racing at the memory of how sweet his name sounds in her voice.


End file.
